


Between the Smoke and Sunlight

by nishizono



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:11:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishizono/pseuds/nishizono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's not really enough room in the front seat for all of them, but they fit Cas in the middle anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Smoke and Sunlight

There's not really enough room in the front seat for all of them, but they fit Cas in the middle anyway. Dean had been worried that Sam would take offense-- Sam gets weird about that kind of shit-- but whatever jealousy had been there before Cas died doesn't seem to be there now. Dean figures that watching Cas struggle with being human has sobered them both.

So that's why Cas is sitting between them, singing quietly along with Led Zepplin. One of Sam's arms is draped along the back of the seat, and Cas's head his tipped back against it. It's weird to see them act this way, but at least they're easier to deal with when they're not trying to verbally spank each other.

The highway through Nevada is straight and flat, and it stretches out for miles ahead of them. The first time Dean had seen the desert, he hadn't been able to make sense of how big it was, like his brain refused to accept its vastness. The landscape had seemed like a movie set, like the earth broke off in front of him and the rest was all a backdrop. The feeling has never completely gone away.

“I've never been to California,” says Cas as if the thought has just occurred to him. He's been doing that since his first day back, announcing that kind of thing like it's a shock to realize there are places on the Earth he's never been. The knowledge is all there. He knows what everywhere _looks_ like, because he was created with an encyclopedic knowledge of the Earth, but he's never experienced most of the world for himself. It's kind of nice for someone like Dean, who's seen America a hundred times, to watch Cas stare out at the landscape as it passes.

“We should stop at the welcome center,” says Sam. “I've gotta pee anyway.”

Dean usually hates rest stops because he's not overly fond of tourists, but the welcome center is the last stop before Death Valley, so he nods and guns it for the border.

  


~*~*~

  
Cas follows Dean out of the car when they get to the welcome center. Sam goes to take a piss, and Cas stares off into the distance. It's starting to get hot outside, but there's a wind that cools their sweat and flutters through Cas's hair. He's been back for long enough that it shouldn't be weird to see him look this way, a little bit sun-kissed and human, but Dean is still getting used to the sight of Cas in jeans.

“I thought it would be ugly,” says Cas, wandering over to a fenced-in overlook. They're halfway up the foothills, where the lower desert curves upward into the scrub-covered mountains. A wasteland of sand spreads out beneath them, dotted with underbrush and a couple of stray joshua trees. It's brown, and it's grey, and there's not a lot of variety, but it's not ugly. It's anything but ugly.

“Wanna grab a postcard?” asks Dean, in the mood to be indulgent.

Cas shakes his head and squints up at the sun. “You of all people should appreciate the moment, Dean.”

At first, Dean thinks he means that moment in particular, but then he gets it and he laughs so quietly he can barely hear it over the wind. He's got so much to learn.

“The desert smells like sage,” says Cas, turning his head to look at Dean. His eyes are as blue and wide open as the sky.

“Yeah, I guess it does,” says Dean.

Cas nods and turns away, and Dean stares at the sunburn on his cheeks.

  


~*~*~

  
They're halfway across Death Valley when Sam and Cas nod off. Dean doesn't notice at first because he's caught up in the music, but when he glances over to ask for his Black Sabbath tape, he finds them slumped against each other. Cas's head is on Sam's shoulder, and Sam's cheek is against the window.

Dean watches them for a moment, then reaches over and turns the radio down.

  


~*~*~

  
“I'm hungry,” is the first thing Cas says when he opens his eyes.

They're two hours away from Carmel, driving through California's hazy summer farmland. Dean has the window down and his sunglasses off, enjoying the golden-yellow sunlight in his eyes. He glances at Cas, who's stretching and rubbing at a crease on his cheek. A piece of his hair is sticking straight up in the back.

Dean tightens his grip on the wheel. “We'll stop when we get to Carmel.”

Cas looks at him for a moment, then nods and looks away. He stares at the road ahead while Sam snores against the window, and Dean feels an uncomfortable tug of familiarity deep in the pit of his stomach.

“Guess I could use some lunch too,” he says gruffly.

Cas frowns and nudges Sam awake.

  


~*~*~

  
Dean can't remember when he started watching Cas so closely. He knows he's always been fascinated, but this is different because _Cas_ is different. There are freckles on his nose that were never there before, and he's got sun-bleached highlights in his hair. He wears shirts with stupid slogans on them, and he has some of the worst morning breath Dean has ever smelled. He's cranky when he's hungry, and he lectures Dean about his language, and he always holds the door for other people.

Dean is starting to think something is happening. He's not sure what it is yet, but it's important, and it scares the living shit out of him. Cas is stealing bacon off his plate, and he's not even complaining.

Sam watches and sips his coffee.

“We'll be in Carmel by three,” says Dean, hoping Sam will get the message to start minding his own goddamn business. It's no use, though. They've been each other's business all their lives.

“Hey Cas,” says Sam without looking away from Dean, “you should use the bathroom before we leave.”

Cas pauses with a glass of orange juice lifted halfway to his mouth. He scowls across the table and says, “I thought we discussed your habit of treating me like a child.”

“Sam is trying to tell you he wants to talk to me in private,” says Dean. The way Sam's mouth goes tight in annoyance makes him smug.

“Then he should say so,” says Cas, his feathers apparently ruffled. He slides out of the booth, still frowning, and moves toward the back of the diner.

As soon as he's out of earshot, Sam asks, “What are you doing, Dean?”

“I _was_ eating lunch, but you're giving me indigestion. What's with the covert ops, huh? Whatever it is, just spit it out.”

“You know he'd let himself get fucked up.”

Dean waves his hand dismissively. “Cas is a big boy, Sammy. Besides, it's not like this job is all that tough. It's probably just a poltergeist.”

“I'm not talking about the job.”

“Then I'm not talking about _this_ ,” says Dean. He slams his fork down hard enough to startle a woman at a nearby table. He's not even sure what the fuck they're talking about, but he knows he doesn't want to deal with it.

Sam huffs and looks out the window. He's quiet for so long that Dean thinks the conversation is over, but then he sighs and says, very softly, “I don't think he's as resilient as I am, Dean.”

Dean scrapes his thumbnail across a chip in the rim of his coffee mug. “I know.”

  


~*~*~

  
Cas's first view of the Pacific Ocean is like a punch in the gut for Dean. They've been quiet the whole way from the diner to Carmel, the three of them alone in their heads, but when the highway crests over a hill and gives way to a sudden view of the ocean, Cas sits up and grabs the dash. His expression doesn't change, but Dean can hear his breath catch.

“Red light,” says Sam.

Dean stomps on the brakes and sends everyone lurching toward the windshield. The car behind them honks, and Dean instinctively gives them the finger.

To his surprise, Cas laughs.

Dean turns to look at him incredulously, but Cas just smiles. It's a little lopsided and a little sad, but it's definitely a smile, and after a heartbeat, Dean smiles back.

“Green light,” says Sam.

  


~*~*~

  
They don't investigate the poltergeist that night. Dean ignores Sam's _look_ and takes Cas to the beach instead. He's not as surprised as he wants to be that Cas doesn't ask Sam to come with them.

They walk along in silence, stopping once in awhile so Cas can toe at a shell stuck in the sand. Dean can't even imagine what it must be like for Cas to know so many things but to have never actually felt them. It makes Dean wish he could link himself to Cas somehow and share the good memories from his childhood, running up and down the beach when he was six, screaming with laughter while his Dad chased him into the ocean. He wishes he could show Cas what the world looks like through a teenager's eyes, all those lazy nights smoking cigarettes with Sam behind the movie theater when their Dad was on a hunt. He's never wanted to share so much with someone.

“Hey,” says Dean, knocking his elbow against Cas's. “Wanna get tacos for dinner?”

“We just ate lunch three hours ago, Dean.”

Dean shrugs.

Cas stops and looks at him with that impossible stare of his, a little bit confused but too knowing to be naïve. He's got his hands tucked in his pockets, and Dean isn't sure he likes that. He hates not seeing all of Cas; he wants to know parts of him aren't missing.

“Fine, no tacos,” says Dean.

“Do you ever think of Lisa?”

Dean's eyes go wide. He's used to Castiel throwing him for a loop, but this is coming seriously out of nowhere. He opens his mouth, then shuts it again and turns toward the ocean. “I don't forget people, Cas,” he says softly.

Cas comes to stand beside him, side-by-side and shoulders touching. He doesn't say anything for awhile, just looks out over the water as the sun sinks lower in the sky. A seagull dips in front of them, skimming the surface of the ocean, and Cas says, “That wasn't a fair question for me to ask. I'm sorry.”

“Whatever, man,” says Dean, turning away from the saltwater sting in his eyes. “Come on, let's go get tacos.”

  


~*~*~

  
They eat on the balcony of their hotel room because it's been ages since they've been able to do it. They don't usually get private space outdoors, but this is California, where even the cheapest rooms come with a view of the sky. They're not high enough to see the ocean, but they're high enough to watch the clouds turn orange as the sun dips low. They share the last of a bottle of whiskey, and when it's empty, Sam sticks a candle in it. It's charming in a very Sam kind of way.

“I bought weed today,” says Sam. When Dean raises an eyebrow, he shrugs. “I needed to entertain myself while you guys were out, and since we're right down the street from a dispensary...”

“Since when do you have a medical marijuana card?”

“I don't, but Robbie Greenwood does.”

“You bought drugs with a fake ID? Sammy, my boy, I'm proud of you. Maybe you're not adopted after all.”

Sam laughs and goes inside to get the weed. While he's gone, Dean looks at Cas, who's being even quieter than normal. He usually wouldn't ask, but Cas makes him want to do things differently. “Hey, you okay?”

Cas frowns and tips his head to the side. “Are you?”

“Come on, Cas, stop it with the caterpillar shit.”

Cas's brows draw together. “Caterpillar shit?”

“Alice in Wonderland? Never mind. Forget it.”

“No, Dean,” says Cas, reaching over to put his hand on Dean's wrist. “It's fine, but please stop worrying about me.”

Dean looks at Cas's fingers, warm against his pulse point, and then looks at Cas's face. Something tugs between them, warm and primeval like an instinct or a heartbeat. Dean could press his fingernails into Cas's bottom lip just to see the impressions they'd leave behind, and he's not sure it's okay to want that.

They're still looking at each other when Sam comes back outside, but either he's too tipsy to notice or he's purposely ignoring them. He drops down into his chair and waves a pharmacy bottle in front of Dean. “Hey, you wanna roll it?”

“Sammy, you're twenty-nine. Didn't college teach you anything?”

Sam shrugs. “Always had someone to roll them for me.”

Dean rolls his eyes and takes the weed. He laughs at the bottle with its handwritten label, trying so hard to look legit, but the stuff inside smells decent. It's been a long time since he last rolled a joint, but he figures it's good enough, and he hands the finished product to Cas. “New guy goes first.”

Cas doesn't protest, but he eyes the joint with a frown until Sam laughs and shows him how to light it. Dean watches them together and tries to make sense of what he's feeling, like he has any right to get fucked up over his brother teaching his _whatever_ how to smoke pot. It's irrational, and he hates it.

“Give me that,” he says once Cas has taken two puffs. He fits his mouth around the joint where Cas's lips had been and wonders when he started noticing shit like that. The smoke is hot and sweet, and he sucks it deep into his lungs, so deeps he's not sure he'll ever exhale it. He's not even sure he wants to. By the time he hands the joint to Sam, his eyes are watering.

They smoke in relative silence, exhaling toward the stars and sinking lower in their chairs with every moment. Cas throws in the towel after only a couple of rounds, which is probably for the best. Dean's not sure he can baby-sit a fucked up angel in the mood he's in. He might say something _important_ , and Cas would be too stoned to understand.

“I assume it's normal to feel dizzy,” says Cas after Sam has stubbed the joint out. His voice is steady and deep, and just a little thick rolling off his tongue. Dean hadn't really expected him to be a giddy high anyway.

“Yeah, it's normal,” says Dean, leaning back to prop his feet on the table. His boots must weigh a hundred pounds.

Cas follows his gaze, then reaches over to start untying Dean's shoes. It's should be nothing-- Sam does it all the time when Dean comes home drunk and passes out-- but the fact that it's Cas undoing his laces and slowly pulling his shoe off...

“Jesus Christ,” says Sam, but he sounds too lazy to really be pissed off. He sighs and rubs his face, then tips his head back and closes his eyes.

“Stop it, Cas,” says Dean, embarrassed. He pulls his feet off the table and tugs his other boot off, trying to ignore the way Cas is staring at him through the shadows.

  


~*~*~

  
The next afternoon, a storm rolls in.

Dean and Cas get caught in the downpour while they're playing FBI at the coroner's office. They've just signed out of the building, and they're halfway to the car when Cas says, “I think I should leave after this job.”

Dean comes to a dead stop in the the parking lot and turns to look at Cas.

Rain is pouring down Cas's face and catching on his nose, flattening his hair against his head and making his jacket stick to his shoulders. “I'm staring to slow you down,” he says, like that's a good enough excuse for ripping holes in the sky.

“What the fuck,” says Dean. It's not a question. He grabs Cas by the elbow and pulls him underneath a tree. The leaves don't do much to stop the rain, but it feels safer underneath them, like maybe if Dean wishes for it hard enough, the branches will grow right down around them.

“There are things I need to learn,” says Cas, looking up at Dean through the raindrops in his lashes.

Dean can feel his expression falter; he feels his brow tighten and his nostrils flare. His throat moves when he swallows, but the ache doesn't go away. He's crazy for a moment, tongue-tied and scared like he hasn't been since the day he agreed to die.

Cas just lifts his chin and waits.

“Fine,” spits Dean impatiently. “ _Fine_ , god damn it.” He grabs Cas by the shoulders and digs his thumbs into the notches of Cas's collarbones. “But you don't get to bitch at me later, when this doesn't turn out the way you planned.”

“Shut up, Dean,” says Cas, and fits their mouths together.

  


~*~*~

  
They come back to their hotel room damp but warm from the sun. They're almost three hours late. Cas's sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and Dean's feet are covered in sand, and Sam is peering up at them from behind his laptop.

Dean meets his eyes and doesn't look away.

“Good,” says Sam. “Now come look at what I just found.”

  


~*~*~

  
Cas doesn't mention leaving again, and it turns out Sam is right.

It's good.

THE END

  



End file.
